For centuries the monster on the land
Has gorged himself with flesh and blood.
Now he wields Q brittle rusty sword
And still casts a spell with a cross.
We go with the children of wrath
And prepare a trap across his path
A net of vine holding a carpel of leaves
Covers the pit full of bamboo spears.
When he stumbles in Ihe hungry hole.
And raves and writhes among the poles,
He shall see the children of the soil
Casting upon him buckets of flaming oil.
The night shall flee from the flames.
These shall rage until the break of day
And merge with the glory of the sun.
The monster shall have been gone.
His sword shall break by a hammer blow
On a rock from which 0 sweet spring flows.
The fragments of the swords we shall gather
To fashion new things by Ihe hammer.
The children of the soil shall be freed
Of yoke and terror in their country.
They shall stand against any monster
And win by wit and engulfing number.
The festival of the children of Ihe soil
Is the festival of all children of toil.
We joyously sing and dance with them
As the ancient monster comes to an end.
17 March 1978